


Anamnesis

by passing-fanciful (kageygirl)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 13:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1858995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageygirl/pseuds/passing-fanciful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones doesn't remember that damn bar wench he kissed.  Captain Hook, however, <i>had</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anamnesis

He wakes on the deck of his cabin with a sore head and an aching jaw. 

And a blurry but beguiling recollection of a lovely dream: golden hair and green eyes, fixed on him like there's no one else in the room. With a look about her as if she knows many of his secrets and can't wait to learn the rest, handling him and his hook as deftly as he handles the _Jolly_.

She's far and away the kindest phantom ever conjured for him by the rum.

Mister Smee appears when he emerges on deck, as if he'd been lurking about (and most likely has, that being a particular skill of his). He sees his captain probing at the bruise with careful fingers, and asks, "Did the wench rob you, Captain? There was something very strange going on last night."

At that moment the wind shifts, chasing away the beneficent clouds and sending a shaft of accursed daylight directly into his eyes. When he holds up his hand to ward off the depredations of the pitiless sun, it shines like a beacon in the light: a single golden hair, tangled about the ring on his index finger.

He's back in his cabin at once, but there's no other sign of the woman (and no sign that she's pilfered anything more than what he must have spent at the tavern). At the base of the ladder, he has a flash of memory--a kiss that nearly overwhelmed him, ardent and somehow _knowing_ , more potent even than the rum.

He folds the hair into a scrap of paper and tucks it into an inner pocket of his coat, then braves the sun again to _find_ that lass.

* * *

The port's been busy; with the impending nuptials of Midas's daughter, fine vessels have been arriving bearing nobles and gifts for the engagement ball, and many faces have passed through. 

Hook is too canny a captain to strike before the wedding, when the royal navy is on high alert; besides, it's bad form to ruin such a happy occasion. Instead, he's been employing one of his most devious weapons to investigate the ships, learn their complements and their schedules, and choose the likeliest prey on their departure for the open seas.

Mister Smee is a dab hand at coaxing information from sailors too deep in their cups to feel discretion's hand on their shoulders. He's also been listening for word of the Crocodile, as ever. Hook sets him to seeking news of the golden-haired lass, as well, for Smee might remember her face more clearly than his captain does.

And yet, he's sure he'll know her the instant he finds her.

None at the tavern had seen her before the previous evening, nor had they noticed her in any company other than his. Hook spends two days searching every alehouse, inn, and brothel in the city, and stays damnably sober for longer than he has since...

... since he cares to remember, and isn't that what the rum is for, to keep the memories at bay?

But the woman is nowhere to be found. 

She gnaws at him with her bright laughter, her intimate smile, her half-remembered touches. She taunts him when he closes his eyes; he tastes her when he puts his flask to his lips.

It's unacceptable. He has room for only one quest in his life, to end that of the Crocodile. This woman can be nothing more than a distraction; he'll never love another like he loved Milah.

It's ridiculous to believe, even for an instant, that he could. 

But he has the strangest feeling, that for all her eager flirtations, his phantom was unlike the other lovelies he'd crossed paths with over the years. There'd been moments when it nearly seemed she saw further than his hook and his reputation, that she'd glimpsed something good and decent in him. And isn't that the most absurd trick of the mind, for that man is long gone, buried years ago and fathoms deep, never to walk this earth again.

Besides which, dark deeds require a dark soul, and he still has a Crocodile to skin.

That only strengthens his resolve to find her. With a clear head, he will bed her, find her to be no more than a common bar wench, and be done with her, his rum-soaked fantasies left in the past.

And thus he finds himself at an unmarked door, in a narrow alley shunned by all but the driven and the desperate.

He's had commerce with the sea witch before, and so the macabre trappings of her home fail to give him pause. Besides, after Neverland, few sights hold the power to harrow his blood anymore.

He smiles at the witch (for it's inadvisable to anger her), hands over a handful of gold and the single hair he'd saved.

She performs her augury, and then frowns up at Hook from across her scarred table.

"This woman you seek is nowhere to be found in any land."

Hook stills for a moment. "Do you mean to say she's dead?"

The idea is surprisingly painful, as he'd known the lass less than a night.

The witch shakes her head, the ornaments about her neck clacking together. "I mean to say, there is no trace that this woman has ever been born."

He taps his finger on the table in thought. "Hidden by powerful magic, then."

"Perhaps." But he gets the sense that she doesn't believe that. She pushes the pile of coins back across the table with a gnarled hand. "Take back your gold, Captain. I can help you no more."

He should leave it there.

He's spent many a year fixed on his purpose, his thoughts bent to achieving his vengeance. When drink, women, and even the sea herself find him impossible to distract, his purpose is there to carry him forward.

But this woman--the mere memory of her--threatens to divert him from his course. He knows obsession like the footfall of an old friend sounding on the deck beside him, and he feels it reaching for him now.

It cannot be allowed to take hold.

He holds up his hand. "Keep the gold, and put it to a different end." He waves at the rack of bottles behind the witch--a myriad of shapes and colors, and none of them wholesome, but that concerns him little. "I wish to buy a potion. Make me forget I ever met her."

She holds up the hair, twists it so it gleams in the candlelight. "This, I can do."

* * *

He returns to the _Jolly_ alone, but drunk enough to not be overbothered by that. He's even glad to see Smee, with his round face and ridiculous cap.

"Did you find her, Captain?"

He tilts his head to look at his first mate, enjoying the looseness of his muscles. "Find who, Mister Smee?"

Smee blinks as if he's been too long in the sun. "The woman, the one you've been looking for."

Ah, Smee. So loyal, in his way, and yet so easily addled. "The only women I have room for in my life are the _Jolly Roger_ and Lady Luck, Mister Smee. Now, tell me, has the latter anything to say to me?"

He claps Smee on the shoulder, and Smee staggers with the force of it. He straightens his cap and says, "Indeed, sir. Last night I diced with some of the Evil Queen's guards. One fellow in particular was glad of the change of pace, for he's recently been in a foreign land, retrieving a female prisoner for the Evil Queen." Smee leans in closer and says, "A prisoner who was known to consort with the Dark One."

"Mister Smee, once again I delight in your particular talents." Hook bares his teeth at the thought--he has the dreamshade, but the Crocodile is powerful, and he'll likely only have one chance to slay the beast. He'd dearly love to get his hands on that dagger, as well. 

He tosses Smee a small coin purse, which Smee catches with a clink. "Do find out everything you can about the Dark Castle, Mister Smee." He makes for his cabin, calling over his shoulder, "I'll be paying a visit to the damsel in distress!"

It will doubtless take some time--breaking into the stronghold of the Evil Queen is not something to be done lightly--but Hook has patience enough, and nothing in his heart but revenge.

* * *

It's a moment of cowardice that shames him later to think upon.

The thought crosses Killian's mind, not long after they'd all been sent back to the Enchanted Forest: find a witch to brew a memory potion, to make him forget Emma Swan. (Perhaps Regina herself would prepare it for him; before they'd parted ways, he'd glimpsed in her a depth of loss that spoke to how well she'd understand his reasons). 

But it's a passing notion, and he abhors the treachery of it; he swore an oath to Emma, and he'll stand by his word, however much it pains him. 

(After Ariel, in his darkest, most honest moments, he welcomes the anguish; he deserves every bit of it.)

He comes to realize, as the months pass, just how decidedly self-centeredness no longer suits him. Emma, in her land, remembers none of what passed between them, nor even who she really is; he must carry their shared moments for the both of them. And carry them he shall; in truth, he cannot abide the thought of losing even the smallest piece of her, and so he recounts to himself every meeting, every conversation, every glance, hoarding his treasure like the pirate he is.

His memories of her might shine so bright that they burn, but if burn for her is all he can do, then burn he shall.

And if ever the walls between worlds come down, if ever he chances to see her again--perhaps she will find him a changed man, annealed by heartache, tempered by fealty.

Perhaps he can become an instrument worthy of her hand.


End file.
